Prudence of the Parsonage Part 19

The stew was steaming hot, and the three gathered sociably about the table. Prudence was talking. Fairy was pa.s.sing the "crackers,"--Prudence kicked her foot gently beneath the table, to remind her that etiquette calls them "wafers." So it happened that Babbie was first to taste the steaming stew. He gasped, and gulped, and swallowed some water with more haste than grace. Then he toyed idly with spoon and wafer until Prudence tasted also. Prudence did not gasp. She did not cry out. She looked up at her sister with wide hurt eyes,--a world of pathos in the glance. But Fairy did not notice.

"Now, please do not ask me to talk until I have finished my soup," she was saying brightly, "I simply can not think and appreciate oyster stew at the same time."

Then she appreciated it! She dropped her spoon with a great clatter, and jumped up from the table. "Mercy!" she shrieked. "It is poisoned!"

Babbie leaned back in his chair and laughed until his eyes were wet.

Prudence's eyes were wet, too, but not from laughter! What would etiquette think of her, after this?

"What did you do to this soup, Prudence?" demanded Fairy.

"I made it,--nothing else," faltered poor Prudence, quite crushed by this blow. And oysters forty cents a pint!

"It's pepper, I think," gasped Babbie. "My insides bear startling testimony to the presence of pepper."

And he roared again, while Prudence began a critical examination of the oysters. She found them literally stuffed with pepper, there was no doubt of it. The twins had done deadly work! Their patience, at least, was commendable,--it seemed that not one oyster had escaped their attention. The entire pint had been ruined by the pepper.

"Revenge, ye G.o.ds, how sweet," chanted Fairy. "The twins are getting even with a vengeance,--the same twins you said were adorable, Babbie."

It must be said for Fairy that her good nature could stand almost anything. Even this did not seriously disturb her. "Do you suppose you can find us some milk, Prue? And crackers! I'm so fond of crackers and milk, aren't you, Babbie?"

"Oh, I adore it. But serve a microscope with it, please. I want to examine it for microbes before I taste."

But Prudence did better than that. She made some delicious cocoa, and opened a can of pear preserves, donated to the parsonage by the amiable Mrs. Adams. The twins were very fond of pear preserves, and had been looking forward to eating these on their approaching birthday. They were doomed to disappointment! The three had a merry little feast, after all, and their laughter rang out so often and so unrestrainedly that the twins shook in their beds with rage and disappointment.

Mr. Starr came in while they were eating, and joined them genially.

But afterward, when Prudence realized that etiquette called for their retirement, her father still sat complacently by the register, talking and laughing. Prudence fastened her eyes upon him.

"Well, I must honestly go to bed," she said, gazing hypnotically at her father. "I know you will excuse me. I must store up my strength to deal with the twins in the morning."

She got up from her chair, and moved restlessly about the room, still boring her father with her eyes. He did not move. She paused beside him, and slipped her hand under his elbow.

"Now, father," she said gaily, "we must put our heads together, and think out a proper punishment for the awful creatures."

Her hand was uplifting, and Mr. Starr rose with it. Together they left the room with cordial good nights, and inviting Mr. Babler to "try the parsonage again." Prudence listened outside the twins' door, and heard them breathing loudly. Then she went to her own room, and snuggling down beneath the covers, laughed softly to herself.

"Etiquette!" she gurgled. "Etiquette! There's no room for such a thing in a parsonage,--I see that!"

It speaks well for the courage of Babbie, and the attractions of Fairy, that he came to the parsonage again and again. In time he became the best of friends with the twins themselves, but he always called them "the adorables," and they never asked him why. The punishment inflicted upon them by Prudence rankled in their memories for many months. Indeed, upon that occasion, Prudence fairly surpa.s.sed herself in the ingenuity she displayed. The twins considered themselves very nearly as grown-up as Fairy, and the fact that she was a young lady, and they were children, filled their hearts with bitterness. They never lost an opportunity of showing their independence where she was concerned. And with marvelous insight, Prudence used Fairy as her weapon of punishment,--in fact, the twins called Fairy the "ducking-stool" for many days.

"The offense was against Fairy," said Prudence, with a solemnity she did not feel, "and the reparation must be done to her. For three weeks, you must do all of her bedroom work, and run every errand she requires. Moreover, you must keep her shoes well cleaned and nicely polished, and must do every bit of her darning!"

The twins would have preferred whipping a thousand times. They felt they had got a whipping's worth of pleasure out of their mischief! But a punishment like this sat heavily upon their proud young shoulders, and from that time on they held Fairy practically immune from their pranks.

But Prudence did not bother her head about etiquette after that experience. "I'm strong for comfort," she declared, "and since the two can not live together in our family, I say we do without etiquette."

And Fairy nodded in agreement, smiling good-naturedly.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FIRST DARK SHADOW OF WINTER

Prudence and Fairy stood in the bay window of the sitting-room, and looked out at the thickly falling snow. Already the ground was whitely carpeted, and the low-branched peach trees just outside the parsonage windows were beginning to bow down beneath their burdens.

"Isn't it beautiful, Prudence?" whispered Fairy. "Isn't it beautiful?

Oh, I love it when it snows."

"Yes, and you love it when the sun shines, too," said Prudence, "and when it rains, and when the wind is blowing. You have the soul of a poet, that's what is the matter with you. You are a nature-fiend, as Carol would say."

Fairy turned abruptly from the window. "Don't talk for a minute, Prue,--I want to write."

So Prudence stood quietly in the window, listening to the pencil scratching behind her.

"Listen now, Prue,--how is this?" Fairy had a clear expressive voice, "a bright voice," Prudence called it. And as she read her simple lines aloud, the heart of Prudence swelled with pride. To Prudence, Fairy was a wonderful girl.

"Good night, little baby earth, going to sleep, Tucked in your blankets, all woolly and deep.

Close your tired eyelids, droop your tired head, Nestle down sweetly within your white bed.

Kind Mother Sky, bending softly above, Is holding you close in her bosom of love.

Closely she draws the white coverlets warm, She will be near you to shield you from harm.

Soon she will set all her candles alight, To scatter the darkness, and save you from fright.

Then she will leave her cloud-doorway ajar, To watch you, that nothing your slumbers may mar.

Rest, little baby earth, rest and sleep tight, The winter has come, and we bid you good night."

Fairy laughed, but her face was flushed. "How is that?" she demanded.

"Oh, Fairy," cried Prudence, "it is wonderful! How can you think of such sweet little things? May I have it? May I keep it? Oh, I think it is perfectly dear--I wish I could do that! I never in the world would have thought of baby earth going to sleep and Mother Sky tucking her in white blankets.--I think you are just wonderful, Fairy!"

Fairy's eyes were bright at the praise, but she laughed as she answered. "You always think me and my scribbles perfection, Prue,--even the love verses that shocked the Ladies' Aid. You are a bad critic. But doesn't the snow make you think--pretty things, Prudence? Come now, as you stood at the window there, what were you thinking?"

"I was just wondering if Connie wore her rubbers to school, and if father remembered to take his m.u.f.fler."

Fairy burst into renewed laughter. "Oh, you precious, old, practical Prudence," she gurgled. "Rubbers and m.u.f.flers, with such a delicious snowfall as this! Oh, Prudence, shame upon you."

Prudence was ashamed. "Oh, I know I am a perfect idiot, Fairy," she said. "I know it better than anybody else. I am so ashamed of myself, all the time." Then she added rather shyly, "Fairy, are you ashamed of me sometimes? When the college girls are here, and you are all talking so brilliantly, aren't you kind of mortified that I am so stupid and dull? I do not care if outsiders do think I am inferior to the rest of you, but--really I do not want you to be ashamed of me! I--oh, I know it myself,--that I do not amount to anything, and never will, but--it would hurt if I thought you and the twins were going to find me--humiliating." Prudence was looking at her sister hungrily, her lips drooping, her eyes dark.

For a long instant Fairy stared at her incredulously. Then she sprang to her feet, her face white, her eyes blazing.

"Prudence Starr," she cried furiously, "how dare you say such things of us? Do you think we are as despicable as all that? Oh, Prudence, I never was so insulted in all my life! Ashamed of you! Ashamed--Why, we are proud of you, every one of us, daddy, too! We think you are the finest and dearest girl that ever lived. We think--Oh, I think G.o.d Himself must be proud of a girl like you, Prudence Starr! Ashamed of you!"

And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room. For all her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm. Only twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed, and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the pa.s.sionate avowals, she hurried away in search of her sister. She needed no more a.s.surance of her att.i.tude.

So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to themselves abstractedly for an hour. Then Prudence came down.

Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question:

"Are your feet wet?"

Connie solemnly took three steps across the room. "Hear me sqush," she said proudly. She did sqush, too!